Savior
by fandomgirl
Summary: Wesley thought he lost his friends during the battle, only to find out two still live.


Savior 

_Wesley struggles with the death of his friends, to find out two of them still live._   
__ __

_***_

_You can spend your whole life praying for a hero._   
_Fall down to your knees and ask him to answer your cries._   
_But all we have is this life of pain._   
_For the hero you once believed in, is gone._   
_I'm the only one you have left._   
_Dare I save you?_

_***_

There was the scent of death flooding Wesley's nose. Death and blood filled his senses, as he trudged his way back to The Hyperion. It occurred to him that the sun was glaring down at him. Asking for his attention. Begging him to notice that it finally had found it's way back home. Wesley merely peered at it without any interest. The end of the world had been prevented. The people of Los Angeles were getting along with their lives. But as Wesley made his way back into The Hyperion, he felt his body grow weak. The pain ate away at his body, as he looked at the damage that had been caused to The Hyperion. Everything was destroyed. The hotel didn't even look the same. The fight had taken everything out of The Hyperion. Looking at the damage, he noticed it was beyond repair. Kicking broken pieces of wood and twisted metal, Wesley leaned against a wall. 

Nausea passed through his body as he slid down the wall. His body was covered in blood. His own blood. His friends blood. 

They had saved the world. 

Fought to their very own death to save the world, and as Wesley leaned his head against to the wall, staring at all the disaster in The Hyperion, he felt himself wanting to ask, 'at what cost?'. If The Hyperion looked this bad, Wesley could only imagine what the rest of Los Angeles looked like. He hadn't paid attention, as he made his way back to The Hyperion. By tomorrow, the people of Los Angeles wouldn't even remember what happened. They would act like it never happened. They would act like their lives hadn't almost ended. They won't remember the heroes that had died saving their pathetic lives. And Wesley really wanted to ask if it was worth it. Was it worth losing -- 

The nausea was coming back. It was eating away at his body. He swallowed hard. His throat was raw, his scar burned with an intense pain. It hadn't done that in so long. Not since he first got it. Reaching his hand up, he touched the side of his neck, wincing at how sore it was. Flashes of demons and vampires alike scratching at his neck. Horror he had never seen before. It felt like someone had dug at that scar, until it bled. And he supposed that was what happened. Letting out a shaky breath, he tried to block it out. 

He had pictured it. 

The fight. 

He had thought they wouldn't win. They did. But the question, 'at what cost?' still nagged at the back of his mind. Was it worth it? 

_Of course, _Wesley told himself, as he swallowed down his pain, wincing inwardly, _you saved their lives... and they'll never thank you for it, but you saved them. Now push yourself up, man. Would Angel be laying down, whimpering, after he just stopped the end of the world? I don't think so. _Wesley removed his hand from the side of his neck and pushed himself up, his shoes crunching over some broken glass. He walked over the desk that was crushed in half, he smiled dryly, opening a drawer that literally fell apart when he touched it; he pulled out the first aid kit, yanking it open. He shrugged out of his torn shirt and started to bandage his arm. He would have to go to the hospital for his other injuries, like the deep scratches on his back, but for now, he would wait it out. Considering the hospitals were probably filled up with the bystanders that had gotten injured during the fight. 

_So many people dead._

Wesley had dealt with death before. Various times, in fact. He wasn't new to death, but there was so much death among the streets of Los Angeles right now. Finishing bandaging his arm, Wesley pulled himself up the stairs. It was lucky they were even standing up anymore. He made his way to what was his hotel room. He walked to the closet, pulling out a new shirt, he slipped it on, wincing softly. It was funny, the hotel was still standing. Sure the lobby looked like an earthquake hit it, but the upper levels of The Hyperion was still sturdy. Buttoning up the shirt he had slipped on, Wesley grabbed a bag and started filling it with things in the hotel room. Once he was done getting what he needed, he walked out of the room with the bag and back down the stairs. His eyes went to the broken frames full of pictures of everyone. 

_You can run, but you can't always hide from the memories._

Grabbing the pictures, Wesley stuffed them in the bag and zipped the black duffel bag up. The nausea was starting to come back, he swallowed it down, grabbed the back and stumbled out of the Hyperion and back onto the streets of Los Angeles. His vision was blurred slightly as he felt the sun glaring down at him again. It felt like it had been forever since he saw the sun. With his free hand, he shielded his eyes, as he looked up at the sun. It beat against his face, making the cuts all over his face more noticeable. The cuts and bruises on his face, were the least of his injuries and problems. Finally turning away from the sun, Wesley started down the streets. 

_Come back to help them later, _he reminded himself.   
  
  
  


*** 

And he made good on his reminder. 

He had finally got the last group of survivors to the hospital. Looking around, he saw how packed the hospital was. People were bleeding, holding onto their certain body parts, fear in their eyes. Children were crying, parents trying to calm them down. There were people on the brink of death. Older people shaking and saying how darkness took them over. Took everything over. It was the most horrifying image Wesley had ever seen. Through years of seeing things like this, he thought he would be used to it. But he wasn't. Seeing everyone react during the aftermath, sent chills throughout his whole body. He almost wanted to tell them to shut the hell up. Their screams were pounding inside his head. He wanted the children to stop crying. The older ones to stop shaking. The rest of them to stop bleeding and looking like this wasn't the end of it all. 

Adjusting his arm in the sling, a doctor had put his injured arm in, Wesley pushed his way through the crowd of the awaiting patients and finally found his way to the reception desk. He rubbed his face with his free hand, knocking on the desk, gaining the nurse's attention. She smiled at him, recognizing him as the guy that had led groups of injured people into the hospital. He returned the smile, but it was a thin smile. "Hello, I was wondering if you had gotten any patients by the name of Winifred Burkle, Connor Angel or Charles Gunn?" His voice cracked slightly as he asked the question. He watched the nurse tap away at her computer, ignoring the feeling nagging at the back of his head. He already feared the worst, but he had to ask. He hadn't seen their bodies, it could mean that they were still -- 

"Yes, a Charles Gunn." The nurse, Amy Davis, piped up. "He was brought in here a few hours ago, with serious injuries. But I'm sorry, he just passed away." 

"Can I see him real quick?" Wesley asked, swallowing hard, feeling the pain his throat come back. 

"Are you family?" 

"The closest he had to it." 

She looks at him skeptical for a second, but he was after all the one that had brought in all the injured people when he didn't have to. And there was something in his eyes, that made her think he was telling the truth. "Go all the way down the hall, take a left, he's in the first room. Only a few minutes, sir." 

Wesley nodded and walked down the hall, taking the nurse's direction. Within a matter of minutes he found himself in front of a hospital room. He pushed the door open and walked into the hospital room, swallowing again as he walked closer to the hospital bed, seeing the prone body of Gunn. Him and Gunn hadn't been getting along, but all that had been erased in the seconds he caught sight of Gunn's body. Stopping inches in front of the hospital bed, Wesley stared at the image in front of him. For once in his life, Charles Gunn was moving about. He wasn't rambling on about something. Complaining about any little thing. Charles Gunn was absolute still and as he looked peaceful. But deep down Wesley knew there had been nothing peaceful about what had happened in Gunn's last moments. 

Turning away, Wesley walked quickly out of the hospital room and traced his footsteps to the waiting room of the lobby, only stopping when the nurse called out to him. 

"So did you gain anything by seeing him?" 

Wesley looked at her. She was younger, about a few years older than Connor perhaps. "No, no it didn't." 

"So who was he to you?" 

"He was once my best friend." 

"What happened?" 

"We fell in love with the same girl. And she only loved one of us." 

The nurse looked down, clicking something on the main computer, when she looked up to say something to Wesley, he was gone.   


  


*** 

Gunn was dead. Angel was dead. And Cordelia had been the real evil, something they hadn't expected. The world had been saved once again, but three lives of his friends were destroyed, taken away. And Fred and Connor - their bodies were still not found, which didn't ease the weight on Wesley's shoulders. They were dead too, he knew it. Their bodies just had never been recovered. That or they were too mangled to notice who they were, and they didn't have any ID on them. And Wesley wasn't sure what was worse. He knew he was on all their emergency cards as the next of kin, which would make him the one that had to identify their body and identifying Fred's... 

Wesley was rubbing his face again. He had just emerged from a hot shower, he had let the hot water beat against his body, scrubbing his body clean. He felt like the blood had seeped into his skin, he had known they had seeped into his clothes, but he felt like the blood had seeped slowly into his own body. The death of his friends loomed over his mind and it wouldn't go away. He finished drying his hair and slipped on a shirt, walking over to the window in his flat and peering out of it. Los Angeles was back to normal. Normal as it could be. People were walking along the streets, talking on cell phones, talking with one another, laughing over jokes, as if nothing had happened. As if a few days ago, the world hadn't been close to ending. As if people didn't die saving the world, just so they could live. But of course, it wasn't their friends that died, so they didn't care. 

Turning away from the window, Wesley looked over at his half packed bag that was laying on his unmade bed. Walking over to it, he grabbed some more of his belongings and started throwing them in the bag. A part of him was telling him that he was being a coward, that he should say, but the rest of him knew he couldn't. He had played it off. He had acted like he hadn't needed any of them, but he had. They had been his friends, sure they went through a lot of tense filled things in the past year, but they had been his friends. And now they were gone. And something ate away at him. Angel wouldn't had let them die. And if they had to die, he would have died before them. Not after them, or remained alive. He wouldn't have to continue out, knowing he saved the world, but couldn't save the people that mattered to him. 

He couldn't even save the girl he loved. 

So packing the last of his things, Wesley zipped the black duffel bag up and headed out of his flat, intending on leaving Los Angeles behind him.   


*** 

"Wesley..." her voice was so soft, it was always soft, but if possible... it had grown softer. He couldn't picture her at first, grabbing his glasses (that he didn't_ always _wear, but did at times), he fumbled with them until they were on, her image finally clear. Brown hair. Beautiful eyes. The face of an angel. She was so beautiful. She always had been. Ever since he first saw her, he had been transfixed on the way she didn't look like a model, but had managed to be the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. "Wesley..." she spoke again, not moving closer to him, but not moving further away from him, just standing still. 

"Fred..." his voice cracked, as he pushed himself up, not yet reaching out to her. "Fred, is that you?" 

She nodded quietly. 

"I thought you... I thought you were dead." 

"Where did you run off to?" she asked, moving closer to him, a few strands of her hair, falling in front of her eyes, like it always did. "I was worried. I couldn't find you." 

Wesley brushed the strands of hair out of her eyes, smiling at the way she smiled softly at him. "No need to worry now, you found me." 

"That I did." she said in a more chipper voice, as if nothing wrong had happened, and by looking into her eyes, he felt the same optimism, the same chipper feeling. "We should go see a movie." She said, nodding in his direction. 

"What movie?" 

"Something romantic." 

"You want to see that with me?" He asked with a small grin. 

"Wouldn't want to see a romance with anyone else." 

"Fred, I have to tell..." 

"Are you running away again?" 

Wesley frowned at her question. "I have to." 

"I see." 

"Will you find me again?" 

She walked all the way to him, and leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed his forehead. "If you don't find me first."   


**"The bus leaving for New York has arrived, please line up..."**   
**** ****

Wesley woke up with a jerk, as he heard a loud female voice ringing throughout the bus station. It had been a dream. Groaning, Wesley pushed himself up in the plastic seat he had been in, and looked around the bus station. It was full of people. Some of them injured from what he only guessed, was the battle a few days ago. He didn't pay them too much attention as he grabbed his bag and headed towards the line he was supposed to be in. Rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand, he placed the bag in front of his feet and continued to kick it as the line moved.   


_Are you running away again?___

_I have to.___

_I see.___

_Will you find me again?___

_If you don't find me first._   
__ __

Wesley couldn't get the words out of his head as he continued to walk up in the line. It had been a dream, but it seemed so surreal. And god, she was beautiful. She hadn't changed. But of course, it was _his _dream, all a part of the way his mind was playing tricks on him, letting him see what he wanted. He wanted to see Fred as beautiful as she had been, before he lost sight of her. Before she had died. It had all been in his mind. _Of course, _Wesley thought to himself as he continued to rub his neck. 

_Just a few more minutes... and you're out of here.___

And lord, if that didn't sound like the best thing he had heard all day. Well besides the voice of Fred. Her lovely angelic voice with the hint of Texan accent to it. Long brown hair. Beautiful eyes. A black hooded sweatshirt ... Wesley stopped rubbing his neck when he saw a black hooded sweatshirt pass into his mind. He peered out the window of the bus station, watching a young boy, not older than 18 or so pass by in what seemed like a hurry. His shaggy brown hair in his eyes, a familiar run, one Wesley had seen before. 

"Hey, the line is moving!" 

Wesley ignored the voice behind him and walked out of the line and over to the window, he leaned against, peering out, watching the boy stop at the edge of the street. Rubbing his hands together impatiently as he waited for the light to turn green, so he could cross the street. _Turn around, _Wesley said to himself, pausing in mid thought when the boy finally did turn around, as if he was worried someone was watching him. Wesley was glad he had the glass to lean up against, as he felt the ground being ripped from underneath his feet. 

Connor. 


End file.
